


The Second Lowering

by pocketsizedquasar



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsizedquasar/pseuds/pocketsizedquasar
Summary: In which Ishmael is a little bit afraid of a lot of things, and for very good reason.





	The Second Lowering

The second time they lower is just as terrifying as the first.  
Ishmael had hoped it would be better, had hoped it wouldn’t frighten him as much as it had the first time. He tells himself he is not afraid of dying (and that’s still true, really; he’s never been afraid of dying, just of what comes after), but his blood freezes the second he sees the spout ahead of him. For a moment he mutinously considers not calling it out. While his crewmates grow all charged with the buzz and frenzy of the hunt, all he can do is think about their last venture—the squall and the capsizing and the near drowning and that resigned look on Starbuck’s face. Ishmael’s panic almost traps him in the rigging, almost roots him to the deck, but Queequeg brushes against his arm while passing by and he remembers himself again.  
It helps a little to have Starbuck there, Ishmael thinks once they lower. There’s something rallying, something calming, about the mate’s quiet courage. He guesses it would be worse with the relentless grating of Stubb’s disparaging voice, or Ahab’s black-tongued vulgarity, and so while Ishmael’s oars skim the water he sends a silent thanks to whatever’s listening for Starbuck’s soft, melodic orders.  
And of course it helps to have Queequeg there, smiling softly when he brushed past Ishmael and snapped him back to reality, or humming quietly to himself as they pull and pull, a comforting and quiet presence in the whaleboat behind him. Even though Ishmael can’t see him, Queequeg’s oars skim his peripheral vision, and somehow that is calming enough. He reminds himself to thank him later.  
This lowering is less disastrous, at least, than the first. Tashtego lands them a whale, and when they get back on deck Queequeg laughs and claps him on the back and cheers along with him. Ishmael is shocked, then confused, then ashamed by the jolt of jealousy and self-consciousness that flares up in him, but then Queequeg comes over and clasps him round the waist and twirls them both around and it is enough to make him forget his foolhardy nerves.

The third time they lower, his anxieties have settled a little. He thinks. The shrill cry from the masthead still sends lightning down his spine, but at least he’s able to cheer and buzz and laugh with all the rest of them, so he counts it as a small victory and makes his way to the boats. Queequeg squeezes his hand this time as he passes, and a different kind of electricity runs through Ishmael at that.  
It is foggy and the waves roll high around their tiny whaleboat. Ishmael isn’t sure if it’s the condensation or the spray or his own sweat that soaks his arms and legs, only that it makes him shiver against the flying wind and thank God that at least this time he has an excuse for his shaking. They can’t see any of the other boats - though he still hears Ahab shouting obscenities somewhere through the fog, hears flask’s agitated yell.  
Starbuck gives Queequeg the order to stand, and Ishmael tenses. He sneaks a glance behind him, at Queequeg’s tall form perched in the bow, harpoon at the ready, though he knows Queequeg is well beyond capable. He’s more just checking for himself, he admits. The boat lurches forward with a groan and a creak and a too-loud splash and Ishmael knows they’ve fastened. He grips the gunwales, white-knuckled and pale-faced, while the whale pulls their boat across (or, more accurately, through) the rolling waves, while his vision blurs with the salty spray, while Queequeg and Starbuck reach across over him and switch places for the kill.  
The sight of Queequeg in the boat’s stern, gripping the steering oar against the rockings of the whale and waves, calms him. Ishmael tries his best not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to, with the sweat and mist gleaming on his brow and his reckless grin and glittering eyes and—  
Queequeg notices his stare, gives him a sly wink. Ishmael hopes he doesn’t look as red as he feels.  
It is not until later in the week, after the bulk of the cutting in and trying out and processing has finished, that Ishmael is able to find Queequeg alone again. The harpooner sharpens his weapon idly on deck, and Ishmael approaches, still jittering and shaken from the hunt. He curses his own fragility.  
When Queequeg notices him, he smiles warmly up at him. He takes in Ishmael’s shaking and his rapid breathing and wide eyes, puts his harpoon away and cups Ishmael’s cheeks and presses their foreheads together, enveloping him in his warmth.  
“You okay?”  
Ishmael’s too overwhelmed to speak at first, so he nods and gives a contented hum. “I am now,” he manages.  
Queequeg smiles down at him, soft and radiant and all but glowing in the yellow lamplight, and this time Ishmael doesn’t bother trying to hide his stare.

The hunts get easier with time, though Ishmael admits to himself that maybe he isn’t quite cut out for whaling. He doesn’t have that elusive ‘shark’ in him that a good harpooner supposedly possesses, doesn’t seem to have that courage or gaiety or venom he sees in the mates, nor the frivolity and flippancy with his own life as the rest of the crew. He’s always been a little bit afraid of a lot of things, and there is certainly a lot to be afraid of here. He thinks the unpredictability of it all is perhaps what gets to him the most, that reckless hand of chance flinging its debris so uncaringly all across what he thought of as predestined, as certain, as true. For perhaps the first time, too, he has something he is afraid of losing.  
But he learns to enjoy himself.  
And having Queequeg there always helps.


End file.
